There’s been mounting buzz of late that somebody—Boston? the White Sox? Tampa Bay—should bite the bullet and sign Barry Bonds to a free agent deal. The arguments are myriad: He can still slug. Incredible on-base percentage. An instant threat in the midst of a lineup. Etc.
My take: No friggin’ way.
Signing Barry Bonds would be a complete and total disaster, for about 8,302 reasons.
Reason No. 1: He’s a has-been. Everyone talks about Bonds’ phenomenal on-base percentage, but consider how he reached it. In San Francisco, Bonds was surrounded in the lineup by liquid crud. Who wouldn’t pitch around Bonds (or, for that matter, me) if you’re “protected” by Ray Durham and Benji Molina. Of course he had a high on-base percentage.
Reason No. 2: He’s the worst clubhouse cancer in the modern history of sports. Worse than T.O. or Randy Moss; worse than John Rocker or J.R. Rider. The worst. He wants special perks, and special perks don’t fly during a pennant race. Any team he joins will be an awfully good one. In Boston, would guys like Josh Beckett and David Ortiz really want to put up with his bullshit? After all they’ve accomplished? No way.
Reason No. 3: He’s 44. I’m 36, and I can no longer catch up with the inside heat (Actually, I could never catch up with the inside heat. But now I have trouble tying my shoes without farting)
Reason No. 4: My dog Norma just ate a leaf. I blame this on Bonds.
